Chesham House presented a rather dour façade to Curzon Street. The house had been built in the time of Queen Anne but its mellow brick and stone quoins did nothing to soften its severity. In the late afternoon light, as the carriage of the Marquess rumbled to a halt outside, Jem thought that the house was perfectly suited to its owner -- powerful, glowering and forbidding
Jem followed the Marquess in alighting and he was instantly aware that, in this part of London, his shabbiness would draw immediate attention to himself. He drew his threadbare coat around him and tried to smooth over the creases with his palms. He was suddenly very shy about entering such an obviously wealthy house. He hung back until the Marquess, who had mounted the steps to the front door, paused and looked back, and seeing him standing uncertain on the footpath as the carriage moved into the mews, jerked his head indicating that Jem should follow him.
The door was flung open and an old butler said in happy but measured tones, "Welcome home, my lord."
The Marquess said, "Thank you, Mitton." The butler stood to one side to usher the Marquess in. Jem hung back until the Marquess turned and beckoned him. Taking a deep breath, Jem casually strolled up to the open door.
"This is Mr. Fleet, Mitton. He will be staying here for several months."
The butler bowed to Jen as he passed, murmuring, "Mr. Fleet."
Jem felt the butler's eyes assessing him, and noting the shoddiness of his clothes, so he nodded loftily to the butler and followed the Marquess into the vestibule of the house.
He stood on the black and white marble tiled floor and gaped as he looked around him.
When the Marchioness came to the house as a new bride, she was appalled by the state of her new home. It had not been renovated since it was built seventy years before. She immediately set herself the task of redecorating, telling her doting husband that the house as it stood was a disgrace. He agreed with her and together they opened the Chesham purse strings and spent lavishly in renovating the house from attic to cellar. They commissioned the talented Scotsman Robert Adam to make over the complete house. Away went the oak paneling and the heavy carved furniture, and all the elements of the house became part of a single delicate neo-classical vision. As Jem looked around him, on every side he could see the white and gold decoration, which enhanced the grand staircase that spiraled from the level above.
The Marquess gave the interior not a second thought. It had been thus all his life. He smiled slightly at the way Jem was gawping around him and said, "When you are ready, Mr. Fleet." Jem pulled himself together, and followed the Marquess and the butler Mitton as they ascended the staircase.
The Marquess said to the butler, "Please get a room ready for Mr. Fleet, Mitton. Perhaps the Chinese room ..."
The butler coughed discreetly. "Lady Honoria occupies that room, my lord."
The Marquess stopped and frowned. "My sister? What's she doing here?"
"She arrived yesterday, my lord. Miss Henrietta is with her. Mrs. Bates put Miss Henrietta in the room next to her mother." The old butler was very apologetic.
The Marquess began ascending the stairs again.
"The rose room, I trust, is unoccupied?" he asked with a touch of sarcasm.
"Lady Chesham will arrive tomorrow, my lord. The rose room has been prepared for her." He shot a glance at Jem that he found quite disconcerting.
"We could open the north wing, my lord."
"Why is everyone descending on me?" the Marquess exclaimed irritably. "No. Have the room that opens off my dressing room prepared for Mr. Fleet. It's probably for the best in any case. Mr. Fleet's clothes have not arrived with us, and for the time being he shall have to dress from my wardrobe."
Jem gave a faint shocked protest, "My lord..."
The Marquess silenced him with a look. They were walking down a long gallery. "Have a bath prepared for me at once. I have been traveling all day." He cast an assessing look at Jem. "No. Two baths. Mr. Fleet can bathe in my room while his chamber is being prepared. And send Hooker to me. Also someone who can valet for Mr. Fleet."
They stopped at one of the doors opening off the gallery.
The butler bowed and said, "Very good, my lord. I'll have the baths brought up immediately. And may I suggest young Loring for Mr. Fleet? He is quite bright and very capable, and though he has had no experience, it is his ambition to pursue a career as a gentleman's man." He coughed discreetly again. "He is Mr. Hooker's nephew."
The Marquess nodded and the butler bowed again and went about his business.
Jem said disdainfully, "My lord, I do not need a valet. I can dress myself."
The Marquess said brusquely, "While you are in this house, you will have a valet." His manner implied that he would brook no argument. He opened the door to a suite of rooms. "These are my rooms, and over there " he pointed "is the door to my dressing room and beyond that is the room you will occupy. It was originally designed, I believe, as a bedroom for a manservant, but Hooker has a room in the servant's wing."
Jem wandered through the vast wardrobe of the Marquess until he came across the room he was to occupy. It was small, though by comparison to the usual accommodation to which Jem was accustomed, it could be reckoned quite commodious. It had its own fireplace and a round window, and its own separate door. However, when he tried the door, he found it was locked and he realized that, until the key was presented to him, he would have to enter and leave through the bedroom of the Marquess. He returned quickly to inform the Marquess and found him lying flat on his back on his vast bed. He coughed discreetly.
The Marquess did not move, but said, "Please do not do that, Mr. Fleet. You are not a servant in this house. If you wish to attract my attention, call me by name."
Jem began, "My lord ..."
There was no answer.
After a pause, and Jem began again, more pointedly this time, "My lord..."
The Marquess sat up in one smooth movement and looked at Jem. "What is it?"
"The door to my chamber is locked, my lord. Until a key is found, I shall have to enter through this room."
"What of it?"
Jem gritted his teeth in the face of this insouciance. "The door is there to be used, my lord. Else `twill give a very odd appearance. Your servants ..."
"What makes you believe I care what my servants think?"
Jem pressed his lips together in annoyance. "You may think your rank places you above criticism, my lord, but you forget the type of person you have invited into your house and who will have the freedom of your bed chamber."
The Marquess grinned a crooked grin. "And what type of person is that?"
Jem said baldly, hoping to goad a reaction from the Marquess. "A whore, my lord."
The Marquess kept grinning and replied, "Ah, but a very expensive whore. When it is known how much you are costing me, universal awe and respect will follow."
Jem felt his temper rising, and he said savagely, "It is no laughing matter, my lord. I have lived my whole life followed by snide innuendo, jeers, contempt and bigotry. You will find, I trow, that even the exalted rank of Marquess is no shield against such."
An expression of hauteur crossed the features of the Marquess and Jem felt himself going red in the face.
Before they came to dagger drawing, there was, mercifully, a discreet knock at the door. The Marquess called out, "Come."
A middle-aged woman, of frighteningly respectable mien, entered the room and dropped a curtsy.
"Welcome home, my lord," she said.
The Marquess rose from the bed. "Thank you, Mrs. Bates. This is Mr. Fleet. He will be staying here for several months. I thought the bedroom through there."
She nodded. "Mitton told me, my lord."
"There seems to be a problem with the door, Mrs. Bates," said the Marquess smiling at her winningly. "Apparently the key has gone missing."
The housekeeper smiled primly back at him and turned to Jem and said, "The key shall be found and brought to you forthwith, sir."
She clapped her hands and stood aside and a procession of four maids entered carrying bed linen, blankets and brooms. They trooped past the Marquess, dropping slight curtseys as they passed and disappeared into the dressing room. The housekeeper followed them, nodding cordially to the Marquess and to Jem.
The Marquess said, "They will not be long." Jem merely nodded, and maintained a surly silence. He had no wish to argue with the Marquess within earshot of the servants.
There was another knock at the door, and without being invited to enter, Mitton the butler led in four brawny footmen, carrying two large hipbaths. He directed them to be placed side by side, and the men positioned them and withdrew in silence. The butler bowed and also left the room.
Jem was appalled to see the Marquess begin to undress. "My lord... " He protested.
The Marquess looked at him.
"My lord -- the maids." Jem hissed at him.
The Marquess gave his glinting smile. "For a whore, Mr. Fleet, you are remarkably prudish."
Jem was practically dancing with embarrassment. "My lord, I beg you, please do not undress until the maids are gone."
The Marquess smirked and sat down on the bed. "Very well, " he said, " we shall wait."
Jem fidgeted for a few moments and then said, "If you like, my lord, I shall help you remove your boots."
The cold green eyes snapped. "You shall do no such thing. You are not a servant."
Jem looked at him with troubled eyes. "What am I precisely, my lord?"
"You are my guest, Mr. Fleet, and as such you are deserving of the traditional rights and privileges of a guest. You shall be introduced to my family as an equal and you shall eat at my table. You shall be waited upon by my servants and you shall have the freedom of this house."
Jem was stunned by his magnanimity and felt his tongue would betray him if he ventured to speak too precipitately.
"You do me too much honor, Lord Chesham," he muttered at last and turned away busying himself with examining the ornaments on the mantle shelf.
The Marquess, lounging back on the bed, watched the young man's eloquent back for a moment and then said, in a softened tone, "You could consider yourself as an agent -- not a servant -- but one whom I have engaged to assist me in my business. Secret business -- if anyone enquires -- but I think none will. My family knows well enough to ignore my government activities."
Jem turned and gave the Marquess a long unsmiling look. "And that is what you wish me to tell any who question my position in your house?"
The Marquess said thoughtfully, "No. I shall tell my immediate family that I am considering employing you as my secretary because Charles had asked me to do what I can for you."
Seeing Jem's puzzled look, he added, "He did this to fulfill the obligation to your father -- your late father -- in repayment for some service your father did for his father -- a service so delicate that it cannot be mentioned."
In spite of himself, a smile flickered over Jem's face. " `Twill do nothing but rouse vulgar curiosity."
"Let them wonder. If it is seen that Charles is satisfied, and I am satisfied, and you are satisfied, what business is it of anyone else?"
Now Jem did smile at that statement, but said scornfully, "Your view of life, my lord, is colored somewhat by the position you hold in society. As I said before, your actions are not above common surmise, as much as you would like to think they are."
The Marquess stood and asked, "You have a better idea?"
Jem shook his head slowly. "But what I do think, my lord," he added pointedly, "is that I should not have my bedroom so close to yours. Can you not house me much further from your -- ah -- purlieu?"
The Marquess answered shortly, "No."
He watched as a mulish expression descended on Jem's face. "I shall need to consult you from time to time -- in absolute privacy. You shall have reports to make and I shall have instructions to give."
Jem felt his temper rising again at the man's apparent blindness to the awkwardness of the situation.
"But my lord, " he said in some exasperation, "it will look so -- singular."
Up went the mobile eyebrows. "Singular?"
Jem flared, "It will look like you're fucking me!"
The Marquess stared at him and then burst into laughter. "At the risk of flinging your words back at you, Mr. Fleet, I would say your view of life is somewhat colored by the position you held in society."
Jem angrily bridled as though the man had slapped him. "It has been my experience, sir," he ground out, "that people, from whatever walk of life, are all too ready to believe the worst. Beware, my lord, lest you be irretrievably sullied."
The laughter faded from the face of the Marquess, and he asked softly, "Why should you care?"
"I care, my lord," Jem, nettled, shot back, "because any ... damage to your standing in society will greatly damage my chances of obtaining the thousand pounds promised me."
The Marquess was roused to anger. "I am not accustomed to breaking my bond, Mr. Fleet. You will get your blood money even if I am reduced to penury in the gutter."
Jem sneered. "Easy to say from your ivory tower of privilege. But I have no such lofty scruples. I would be prepared to marry a midden for muck merely to stay alive. I cannot afford finer feelings. `Tis a lesson I learned very early in life."
The Marquess snapped, "Well, at least from the time your family tossed you on the streets!"
There was a ghastly silence. Jem paled with rage and humiliation. He then turned away, breathing heavily and stared blindly out the window.
As soon as he had said the words, the Marquess regretted it. For an instance he felt at a loss. He took a breath and began, "Mr. Fleet ... "
Jem interrupted him immediately, "My lord," he said, "I believe this arrangement was a mistake. I think, `twould be better, if I left now. I shall not hold you to the bond. You can get someone else a little more ... amenable."
The Marquess blinked. "Out of the question," he said immediately.
Jem said simply, "Why?"
"There is no one else." The Marquess was annoyed that he had to explain himself.
Jem gave him a vicious look. "I'm sure there are places in this great city where you could whistle up some very willing male whores. Goodbye, my lord." He left the room immediately.
The Marquess followed him into the gallery. He angrily called after the retreating figure, "Fleet!"
Jem heard the fury in his voice but did not falter. He rounded the corner of the gallery and came face to face with a tall middle-aged woman and a very pretty young girl. He stopped, embarrassed and confused. The woman gave him a cynical smile and said, "Ah. You must be the mysterious guest that Mitton told me of. How-de-do young man?"
Jem gave a very awkward bow, completely uncertain about what to do. The Marquess, very angry and red in the face, rounded the corner behind him a moment later. He was about to shout at Jem but was stopped by the sight of the women.
"Ah, Nathaniel," said the lady, "still exuding your abundant charm, I see. How are you, my dear?" and she presented her cheek to him where he saluted her with a reluctant kiss.
"Honoria," he said, he said, his voice shaking and barely under control.
The young girl giggled. The Marquess nodded to her. "How are you Hetty?"
She dropped a schoolgirl curtsey and flung herself into his arms. "Are you so very cross to see us, Uncle Nat?" she exclaimed.
The Marquess unwound her arms from around him and said, "I'm never cross to see you, Hetty. Your arrival is so unexpected. What brings you to town, Honoria? And why the deuce are you here and not at Russell Square? Where's Henry?"
"Still in Norfolk. He refuses to leave while the hunting season is still in full cry, but I am come with Henrietta to meet mamma."
"Why?"
"Really Nathaniel -- don't you read any letter I write to you? It's Henrietta's coming-out this year and we have to shop for clothes for her. Mamma has promised to stand the cost of her presentation gown, which I must say is very generous of her. It puts me greatly in charity with her though she has been quite unpleasant about the economies I have had to make."
The Marquess merely grunted his opinion of his sister's enforced savings knowing exactly how well provided Sir Henry, her husband, was. Like his mother, he could not abide his sister's parsimonious streak.
Lady Honoria continued, "But this young man is, I presume, a new protégé, Nathaniel?"
The Marquess pulled himself together and reached out and took Jem by the upper arm, his strong fingers sinking warningly into Jem's muscles.
"Yes, he is. Honoria, Hetty, I should like you to meet Jem Fleet. Mr. Fleet, my sister Lady Honoria Wyndover and my niece Miss Henrietta Wyndover. Mr. Fleet is to be my new secretary."
Lady Honoria shook hands with Jem, presenting him with two fingers. Miss Wyndover curtseyed. Jem solemnly shook the proffered hand and bowed to Miss Wyndover -- a complex move he was able to execute without entangling himself.
Lady Honoria spoke, "How do you do, Mr. Fleet? Your secretary, Nathaniel? Good. It's about time you freed yourself from those strange duties of yours and devoted more time to your family. I wish you well, Mr. Fleet. My brother is a notoriously difficult taskmaster, though from what I heard as you rounded the corner, you are already aware of that. We are going down to dinner, Nathaniel. You stink of the stables so I shall have dinner put back three quarters of an hour."
She turned, and gathering her shawl about her, said, "Come Henrietta. We shall give them time to change." And she moved off towards the staircase. Miss Wyndover gave the two men a mischievous glance and followed her mother.
The two men stood side-by-side watching the retreating women. Jem felt very awkward and the Marquess said suddenly, very harshly, "Well? Are you going or staying?"
Jem turned to look at the Marquess. The man was not looking at him but gazing into the distance where the women had disappeared. His countenance was rigid and his face expressionless, and yet Jem sensed that he dreaded the answer.
Jem sighed and said, "I shall stay, my lord." Though the Marquess did not comment, Jem knew that his decision pleased him. The thought occurred to him that perhaps the man had spoken the truth. There was no one who could replace him.
They turned as one and returned to the bedchamber side-by-side. As they approached the door, the maids were leaving. They curtseyed briefly to the Marquess and disappeared down the gallery. The housekeeper, Mrs. Bates followed them out, and was shutting the door when she espied the men.
"Your room is ready, Mr. Fleet," she said cordially, "And the key shall be found as soon as possible. If you require anything else, please do not hesitate to ask."
Jem murmured, "Thank you Mrs. Bates." And the woman nodded to him and said, "Mr. Fleet -- my lord." And she followed the maids down the gallery.
They entered the room again, and Jem immediately made his way to his own room. He was pleased to see the bed was made up and a fire was burning cheerily in the grate. He sat on the bed and turned to see the Marquess surveying him from the doorway to the wardrobe.
Jem smiled in delight at him and said, "Well. This is much more than I expected." The Marquess merely nodded, and disappeared back to his own room. Jem chuckled and lay back on the bed. It was very comfortable. He could not remember having such a bed before. As he lay there, in his very own room, he reflected on his strange relationship with the Marquess. He could not quite fathom him. On one hand he was arrogant, harsh and unfeeling, and yet -- and yet,,,
The informed guesses of the Marquess had stunned him, but never did Jem suppose the man gloried in his superior knowledge, and he had seemed genuinely contrite at the thoughtless cruelty of his tongue. There was also the unwelcome recognition that the Marquess seemed to be his perfect complement. Though he violently disagreed with the man at times, it seemed they always understood each other perfectly. And there crept into his mind the small unwelcome thought that he found the Marquess very attractive.
He sat up suddenly. That would never do. He could not let himself harbor tender feelings for this man -- especially not for this man. He looked at the door to the dressing room, remembering the bath waiting for him. He sighed and made his way to the other bedchamber. He was surprised to see the room bustling with people. There were two footmen filling the baths with hot water from buckets. Mitton the butler was supervising them, and Jem saw two men, an older and a younger, standing to one side. Both bore the unmistakable stamp of gentlemen's gentlemen.
The Marquess saw Jem emerge from the dressing room.
"Ah, Mr. Fleet," he said carelessly, "this is Hooker my man, and this" indicating the younger man "is Loring who shall be your valet for the time you are resident here."
Both the valets bowed, exactly similar bows and Jem nodded to them. He smiled at Loring. "How do you do, Loring?" he said.
Loring responded to his greeting by smiling widely and bowing again. He was a little younger than Jem, fresh faced with ears that stuck out, but his smile was genuine and he seemed eager to please.
Mitton the butler, said discreetly, "The baths are ready, my lord."
The Marquess nodded and said, "Thank you Mitton." The butler bowed his head and ushered the two footmen from the room. Before he left, he indicated to Hooker and Loring that there was extra hot water in the buckets, and then quietly left the room.
Without any ceremony, the Marquess began to undress with Hooker assisting him. Hooker nodded to Loring and the young valet moved to Jem to assist him in removing his coat. Jem quickly began to undress smiling shyly at Loring who conscientiously took each item of clothing and carefully placed it on a chair. Jem was a little embarrassed that he had no small clothes, but the Marquess was intent on his own undressing and was ignoring him. The last item of clothing that Jem removed was his voluminous linen shirt.
All the men in the room stopped what they were doing as Loring gave an audible gasp. Jem's back was in full view in the candlelight, showing the criss-cross stripes of fogging scars.
The Marquess gazed at Jem's naked back for a moment or two, then nodded to Hooker as he got into the bath and lowered himself into the hot water. The spell was broken, and Loring turned away to arrange Jem's clothes. Flushed with embarrassment, Jem too sat in the bath. Avoiding his eyes, Loring handed him the sponge and soap and stood back.
The Marquess sat in the bath, leaning back with his eyes closed, savoring the warmth of the water.
"Loring," he said quietly with his eyes still closed.
"M-my lord?" Loring replied, startled that the Marquess should address him.
The Marquess continued in a quiet voice, but a voice that held the chill of threat. "If it comes to my ears that the condition of Mr. Fleet's back is the subject for gossip in the servant's hall, you will be instantly dismissed without a character. Is that clear?"
The young valet swallowed hard. "Yes, my lord," he whispered.
The valet Hooker stepped into the breach. "Mr. Fleet need have no fear, my lord. Mr. Loring perfectly understands the discretion required of him."
Still with his eyes closed, the Marquess nodded. Jem looked at his valet and said, "Thank you, Loring." The valet gave him a tentative smile that Jem returned.
All this was watched by Hooker who said, "Now, my lord, Mr. Fleet. While you are soaking, Mr. Loring and I shall look out some clothes for Mr. Fleet."
The Marquess nodded again. "Something for day wear; something for evening wear; some linen, and... " opening his green eyes and glancing at Jem "some small clothes. Some boots and shoes also -- if they fit him."
Hooker said, "Very good, my lord."
The Marquess said, "It will be for a few days only, until Mr. Fleet can arrange the purchase of his own clothes."
Hooker bowed slightly, and he signaled Loring and they disappeared into the wardrobe room.
Jem and the Marquess sat in their respective baths. The Marquess still sat back with his eyes closed while Jem busied himself to cover his embarrassment, soaping his hair and scrubbing his body.
The Marquess murmured quietly, "Do you want to tell me what happened?"
Jem mumbled, "I would rather not, my lord."
"As you wish," the Marquess replied serenely.
They sat side-by-side in silence -- the silence being broken by Jem's splashing in his bathtub. Gradually his restless movement subsided.
He said quietly and reluctantly, "It was not what you think."
The Marquess said, "You don't know what I think."
Jem gave a snort of ironic laughter and said sourly, "I can guess."
He took a deep breath and said quietly but resolutely, "The flogging was not given ... officially."
The Marquess opened his eyes and turned to look at Jem. The young man said in a low voice, "A group of young huntsmen thought it great sport ... they were drunk. After they had had their sport, I was paid well for the ... inconvenience."
The Marquess said levelly, "You were raped?"
Jem sighed. "Among other things. It was a long time ago. I was ... innocent ... comparatively speaking. It will never happen to me again. I learned the lesson well - to avoid such situations at all costs."
The Marquess was silent. He had prided himself on being a Man of the World, one who had seen the worst that society could offer, but Jem's simple telling of his story shocked him to the core. I made him appreciate the steel in the young man, but he was appalled at this glimpse of the life that he had been forced to endure. Little wonder he had a fiery temper and an insolent tongue. Far better these attributes than to be destroyed by experiences so hideous.
They washed themselves in silence for a few minutes, then the Marquess said suddenly, "This could work to our advantage."
Instantly suspicious, Jem said, "What could?"
"While I am naturally appalled that you have been scarred in such a way ..."
"Naturally," Jem murmured scathingly.
"... I am of a mind that those very scars, if revealed to our target in the proper manner, would feed his appetite for you."
"What?" said Jem.
The Marquess looked at him.
"What sort of degenerate is this person you call a target?"
The Marquess curled his lip. "One who would desire a body as beautiful as yours only to disfigure and mutilate it. Both Sir Charles and I have seen the broken bodies of those we suspect have been his victims. We cannot prove it, else he would be swinging at Newgate by now."
"Sweet Jesus!" breathed Jem. He sat still in his bath, not knowing what to think. He glanced at the Marquess, taking in the sight of his large bare shoulders. A thought struck and he smiled impishly.
Looking at the Marquess in a calculating way, he slowly stood up in his bath and faced the him. He asked mischievously, "You think my body beautiful, Lord Chesham?" He turned slowly with his arms outstretched. His wet naked flesh gleamed in the candlelight.
The Marquess looked at him impassively.
"Why do you do that?" he asked quietly, with an undertone of irritation.
"Do what, my lord?" Jem asked in mock innocence.
"Parade vulgarity as though you are a whore?"
Jem was taken aback, but instantly riposted, "You doubt my credentials, my lord?"
The Marquess raised a cynical eyebrow. "The credentials that prove you are a whore? I most certainly do doubt them. I have had some little experience with whores and I can tell you, you are no whore, Mr. Fleet. So sit down."
He snapped the last at Jem who suddenly felt very foolish. He slid back down into the water.
Jem muttered in a surly tone, in the accents of the street, "Well, ain't you a downy cull!"
The Marquess smiled in derision. "You're quite right. I am a downy cull. And don't think that you can confound me by dipping into flash talk. You may have misled Sir Charles, but I am very much up to snuff with anything you can hand me."
He turned his head and looked at Jem in amusement as he glowered in bad-tempered chagrin. And then he added slyly, "And yes. I think you are very beautiful."
Jem's eyes flew to his face. The Marquess was looking at him with a strangely sardonic expression on his face, an expression he found difficult to interpret. He looked away and concentrated on washing himself once more.
The Marquess grinned to himself at Jem's discomfiture, and he too concentrated on washing himself. The both of them were busily scrubbing away when the valet Hooker re-entered the chamber carrying a change of clothes for the Marquess.
"Mr. Loring is laying out Mr. Fleet's clothes in his chamber, my lord." He said and turned to Jem and said, "He will be here shortly, Mr. Fleet, to rinse you before you dress."
Jem smiled his thanks and Hooker said to the Marquess, "Are you ready to be rinsed, my lord?" The Marquess nodded and the valet poured warm water over him from a large metal ewer. The Marquess stood in the bath and another ewer of water was poured over his nether regions. The valet deftly put down the ewer and held out a large towel with which he enveloped the Marquess as he stepped out of the bath.
Loring appeared as the Marquess dried himself, and, with significant looks and small gestures, his uncle indicated that he rinse Jem. Loring nervously asked Jem, "Are you ready to be rinsed, Mr. Fleet?" and Jem nodded. Loring carefully poured water over him and, following the example of the Marquess, Jem stood to be further rinsed by his scrupulous valet. Loring was ready with another large towel as Jem stepped from the bath and followed him into his own chamber.
Jem was enthralled by the quality of the clothes presented to him. He realized that they must be clothes that the Marquess no longer wore, but they were beautifully cut and were meticulously maintained. It was a very pleasurable experience to dress in these clothes. The only problem was fitting the wonderfully polished boots. They were a little large for him: in fact, all the garments were a little large for him but it was the boots that gave him the most trouble. Loring however was equal to the problem. He quietly suggested stuffing the stockings with other stockings. It felt a little strange but the boots finally fitted and he was confident that he would not trip himself when he attempted to walk in them. After Loring had tied his neck cloth for him ("Nothing too outré, Mr. Fleet. `Tis best to err on the side of simplicity."), and had brushed his flame-colored hair into some semblance of a fashionable cut, Jem looked at his reflection in the mirror and was astounded how the quality of the clothes flattered him. He grinned and remarked to Loring that he looked like a shrunken version of the Marquess, which elicited a polite titter from his new valet. However, Jem felt confident enough to face the Marquess and the rest of his family.
When he re-entered the other bedchamber, the Marquess was already dressed and Hooker was helping him into his coat. He ran a critical eye over Jem and nodded and said, "Very good."
Jem couldn't help grinning at this moderate approval and he bowed ironically to the Marquess, who astounded him by smiling back at him.
"If you are ready, Mr. Fleet," he said cordially, "let us keep the ladies waiting no longer."
As they made their way to the dining room below, the Marquess said to Jem, "There is much to do tomorrow. Among other things, we shall go into town to bespeak some clothes for you. You can do no better than to patronize my own tailor."
Jem sighed. "I shall have to ask you to fund me against the fee for my services, my lord. I have but little of the ready. In any event, I shall have to be very circumspect where I lay out my money and on what I purchase. Your tailor, I have no doubt, will be far above my touch."
The Marquess replied, "There will be no problem, Mr. Fleet. I shall stand the cost of outfitting you. You will be, after all, working for me and your clothes shall be an integral part of the appearance you will present to the world."
Still walking beside the Marquess, Jem said cynically, "The honey in the trap?"
The Marquess agreed affably. "Just so. It is only fair, therefore, that you do not bear the cost. I shall also supply you with pin money to assist you in your endeavors."
Jem was impressed. "That is prodigiously generous of you, my lord."
A smile flickered across the face of the Marquess. "It will be money well spent. You may have no qualms, however, that because of my paying for your clothes, you will somehow be reduced to the status of common whore."
Jem said dryly, "Certainly not, my lord. As you so delicately pointed out an hour since, I shall rejoice in the status of uncommon whore."
Jem's first dinner in Chesham House was a pleasant surprise. He had heard exaggerated stories of how meals were conducted in the houses of the wealthy -- a multitude of courses, footmen behind every chair, vast polished expanses of empty table between the diners and he quailed lest he should offend against unspoken shibboleths. He was secretly relieved when he discovered that the meal was conducted without much ceremony. Plain, unpretentious food was served on a table much reduced in size -- its leaves had been removed - and the service was very informal: two footmen soberly dressed with unpowdered hair. The family conducted themselves very informally with Miss Wyndover talking across the table to Jem. Lady Honoria monopolized the conversation, talking much on her daughter's forth-coming presentation and with the Marquess saying very little but listening attentively. The imminent arrival of the Marchioness was discussed in detail also, and from the comments, Jem rather dreaded meeting this formidable lady.
Instead of retiring with her mother to the drawing room at the end of the meal, Miss Wyndover seized on the idea of showing Jem the family portraits. Although her mother made a moue of disapproval, the Marquess had no objection so Jem was loftily commanded by Miss Wyndover to take up a branched candelabrum and follow her upstairs to the long gallery, leaving the Marquess to enjoy his port in solitary splendor.
There were many portraits in the gallery, ranging in size from large studio pieces to delicate miniatures displayed in glass cases. Miss Wyndover was determined to show Jem the history of the Seaton family, beginning with Sir Nathaniel Seaton, one of the "braw knights" who followed James I south from Scotland, and later created Earl of Chesham. Jem gazed at his portrait -- a portrait that was very provincial in style and was filled with many objects of metaphorical significance. He smiled at the rather clumsy looking black bird that was perched on a column behind the Earl, and when he asked Miss Wyndover why a crow was in the picture, she giggled and said, "That's not a crow, silly. That's a falcon -- the black falcon of Chesham."
Jem laughed at his mistake but protested, "There's no such thing as a black falcon."
Miss Wyndover replied, "Not in the real world. But the Chesham falcon is heraldic. See ... " and she pointed to the Chesham coat of arms that held pride of place over the delicate Adam fireplace in the middle of the room. The arms were molded in plaster and painted in bright heraldic colors. The black falcon was the major charge on a gold field.
They passed down the gallery from this early portrait, stopping at the portrait of the first Marquess -- the title granted by Charles II. Jem thought these early representatives of the Chesham line were a rather melancholy lot -- sad eyes and limp hair. In addition to these principal portraits, there were numerous other portraits of wives and sons and family groups. Some portraits Miss Wyndover had no idea who they were, but she kept up an entertaining chatter about her ancestors that amused Jem and made the portraits all the more interesting.
At last they came to a family group -- the present Marchioness and her two children in an Arcadian landscape with a forbidding castle in the background.
"That's Lochseaton --Uncle Nat's place in Scotland," she said, pointing to the grim edifice in the painting. "I've never been there but I don't think I'd like it. It looks very uncomfortable."
Jem chuckled. "Maybe not uncomfortable for Lord Chesham. I think he would rather enjoy it -- in an uncomfortable kind of way."
Miss Wyndover giggled at this comment and pointed to the lady in the painting.
"That's grandmamma," she said triumphantly. "Don't you think she is very beautiful?"
Jem could only agree. Lady Chesham wore a large picture hat that framed her beautiful face, and although her hair was powdered in the sadly old-fashioned hedgehog style, the painter had captured her grace and elegance. Of much more interest to Jem were the two children with her.
Pointing to the young teenaged girl, dressed in white with a pink sash, standing solemnly beside her mother, Miss Wyndover exclaimed, "That's mamma. She was younger than me when this portrait was taken."
But Jem was drawn to the young boy in miniature hunting pinks, with a hobbyhorse and whip, staring out at him. The artist had captured the liveliness of his countenance and a certain pugnacity in his bearing. Jem could not help smiling.
Miss Wyndover moved beside him and said, "Uncle Nat looks like a little imp, don't you think?"
Jem nodded. "I agree. He does."
Miss Wyndover dropped her voice confidentially, "Mamma had a pet name for him."
Jem looked at her.
She whispered theatrically, "Button."
He gave a shout of laughter, and Miss Wyndover joined in. "Shh!" she said. "Don't tell him I told you. He'll be very cross."
They both giggled together. Miss Wyndover moved down the gallery a few paces.
"Here is his latest portrait." Jem moved beside her and gazed on the likeness of the Marquess as a young man in a large picture. Inexplicably, the man in the portrait was smiling. He must have been much younger when this was taken, thought Jem, but he was instantly recognizable. He was very, very handsome. Jem stared that the portrait for a long time, spell bound by the promise of a noble future that the man in the portrait seemed to gaze upon. He noticed there was a space on the wall next to the portrait.
"Was there a companion picture to this?" Jem asked.
Miss Wyndover shook her head. "I don't think so. Why do you ask?"
"There's a space on the wall next to it."
Miss Wyndover shrugged. "I don't remember what was there, but it must have been taken away to be cleaned."
Jem nodded absently and moved away from the portrait, examining the smaller pictures around it. His eye was caught by a picture in a very insignificant position, but a picture that held him immediately. He saw at once that a master had executed the portrait -- a portrait of the face of a young smiling woman of great beauty whose hair was exactly the same color as Jem's own.
"Miss Wyndover," Jem called her attention to the portrait, "who is this?"
His companion gave the portrait a cursory glance.
"Oh," she said, "that's Susanna."
This was a name Jem had not heard before. "Who's Susanna?" he asked.
She gave a shrug. "Uncle Nat's wife."